Light Amidst the Darkness
by Rose-tinted specs
Summary: Ariel's life is far from what she had dreamed of, but there exist intermittent flickers of hope that make it worth living. Eric is one of them.


**Author's Note**

I wanted to try something a little different with this one, and found myself playing around with tenses and such. It is a spin-off of _How to Save a Life_, and the dynamics will likely make more sense if that is read first, though it is by no means compulsory and can be understood well enough without. I'm working on far too many stories at the moment (my own fault) and this is the most recent to find its completion. I hope you all enjoy it!

Rose

* * *

_Saturday 25th April, 1908_

_03:25am_

* * *

Outside snow falls thick and silent, extraordinary for the time of year. In the window of a second floor apartment a young woman with crimson hair sits motionless, with a woollen blanket around her shoulders that provides little by way of warmth, her numb hands resting on the swell of her belly. Her head is inclined against the wall behind her, exposing her pale neck, the skin pricked with goose pimples; she watches those flakes tumble and dance through the air like one in a dream.

The room she calls home is frigid—the fire had been small to begin with and now only low embers glow, orange and stuttering in the hearth. Ariel's breath clouds in front of her, mist upon the window, blurring the snowflakes outside into one swirling mass. In the bedroom, her husband snores loudly. Below her, the gas lamps flicker threateningly and the cobblestones disappear.

She brushes a thumb gently across the fabric of her nightgown, thankful that despite the cold, her baby remains safe and warm, and fearful of the day she can no longer guarantee either.

Her feelings have shifted dramatically over the past six months; at first she hadn't been able to leave the house without the impulse to throw herself down the stairs, she couldn't imagine loving a child born of fear, didn't want that reminder of her husband's brutality; now she feels sick at the mere thought of harm coming to it. It is in instances like this, sitting awake while the rest of the world sleeps, that the company of her unborn child is felt most keenly. Those soft kicks remind her that she is not alone, remind her that she has something greater than herself to live for. Hope where there had once been nothing, like a beacon of light amidst the darkness.

Sleep has deserted her.

Her husband—Warren—had stumbled home a little over an hour ago, flushed and frantic with lust. Ariel knew not to fight, and endured his advances with both arms wrapped around her baby, tears like silver ribbons upon her cheeks, pained whimpers swallowed unheard by the night. After what seemed like an eternity he had fallen unconscious beside her, the bed frame complaining under his weight, and she had slipped from the room without a sound, gliding ethereally over the floorboards to sit at the window, it's shallow alcove providing a sense of security; from here she will see him coming.

The cold numbs her extremities first and is working it's way up her limbs, liquid ice through her veins. She feels like crying, like screaming, but sits without making a sound.

In her mind she is elsewhere, skipping across the sand dunes, the long grass tickling her feet and the sea breeze dancing through her hair. There are gulls overheard and ships on the horizon and the waves caress the sand. A kite flutters, catching the air and soaring upwards into a cloudless sky. She is not alone; Eric navigates the dunes beside her, his fingers intertwined with hers. She feels safe.

A vice tightens suddenly around Ariel's heart and two tears slip down her frozen cheeks. Thoughts of Eric bring such desperate longing, such sorrow, yet she cannot help but think of him; his raven hair and dimpled smile, and eyes that shine bright with kind sincerity.

His house is but a twenty minute walk away, and as Ariel watches the falling snow she experiences a sudden urge to make the journey now, to trudge through the deepening snow and fall shivering into his arms. Once, not too long ago, she had walked there in the dead of night; but, seeing no indication that anyone remained awake, had slunk home again, crestfallen. Indeed this had not been the first time she had done so.

She takes a measured breath. He will most likely be sleeping now and she does not wish to become a burden, for he already does more for her than he ought, so much that she is certain she would perish without his generosity. Prior to conceiving she would not accept the money he offered so willingly, he was not obliged to help them and she would not take advantage of his kindness; now though, she finds that she has very little choice if she wants to provide for her baby, and she does, more than anything in the world.

Ariel sighs; she owes Eric so much and has so little.

The snow continues to fall, building up now against the window, sticking to the glass which rattles in the wind. She cannot help but tremble with cold, and pulls the blanket tighter about herself, draping the material across her middle with care. She wishes she could keep her baby within her always, safe from the long winter nights and from its father's temper.

Warren abhors children, this is no secret. He is no more gentle with his wife now than he was before and Ariel worries that his roughness will harm the baby. She strives to make herself amiable, to keep out of his way, but her very existence seems to anger him and no matter her efforts she cannot avoid his cruelty.

And so, she sits quietly, and lives through memories and fantasies when she can, and tries to quell the fear that threatens every day to drown her.

* * *

The dawn arrives noiselessly, the sky transitioning uneventfully from black, to grey, to white, whilst still the snow falls; and the clouds hide the sun, if sun there be.

Ariel's skin is almost translucent, her lips blue and her eyes surrounded by dark, sleepless shadows. She watches from the window as smoke begins to furl from the chimneys, the world waking to the uncommonly late winter weather, and imagines the excitement of children at the discovery of what awaits them. Sure enough over the course of the morning they emerge, wrapped from head to toe, shrieking and squealing in the street below. Ariel watches them sliding about on tea trays, building snowmen complete with hats and scarves and coal buttons, and carrot noses gifted by Mrs. Higgins—who stands jovially in her doorway with a bag of the orange vegetables, bought yesterday for the occasion—and imagines her own son or daughter playing with them.

It is a picture of merriment, and Ariel's eyes grow moist at the sight.

She remembers another snow day, many years ago now, during which she played all day long with her sisters. All seven had returned home with sodden clothes and fingers that were bitter with cold, though remained in good spirits as they huddled before the fire with biscuits, and mugs of coffee and hot cocoa.

She seldom sees her sisters now; only Andrina remains at home with their father, the others are married, some with children of their own, scattered up and down the country, leading lives that Ariel hears about almost exclusively in letters.

Her stomach growls, as though the babe there is vocalising it's desire for food, but she does not move to seek it; Eric has been in London this past week and their supplies have dwindled as a result. It is surprising just how much she relies on him, only realising the true extent of his involvement when it is removed. What Warren earns he spends, and Ariel is left to her own devices and to the kindness of her friends.

The bed creaks suddenly, and Ariel's heart stops.

Seconds later her husband stomps into the room, he looks at her and then at the snow outside, and huffs as though wholly unimpressed by the state of things.

Fear creeps into the young woman's very soul. She does not look at him; instead, she keeps her eyes fixed upon the glass, tracking her husband's whereabouts by the sound of the floorboards beneath his feet. He does not glide as she does, and she fears that one day his heavy footfall will send him down into the apartment below.

He makes no announcement of his plans for the day, but the door opens and closes with a bang, and Ariel is alone once more, the room about her shaking in the wake of her husband's departure. She dares to breathe again.

She watches him stumble down the icy steps, the deep snow making for a somewhat clumsy descent. Some of the children stop to stare as he lumbers past, a lull in their fun and make-believe to mind the giant, and then he is gone, disappearing around the street corner and out of sight. He will have gone to the nearest ale house, and Ariel shudders to think of the state he will be in when he returns.

Within, all is still once more. Laughter is muffled and seems very far away, though Ariel can see it's source, and wonders how happiness and misery can live within such close proximity to one another. No, she reminds herself, marriage may not be all she had dreamt, but she has so much to be grateful for, not least the child she carries; and she resolves to make do and be content, though it is difficult with a husband whose mere presence strikes fear into her heart.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door that awakens the aforementioned terror, a feeling which subsides only when she realises that it is far too polite an enquiry to be Warren. She shifts her weight and stands, her legs shaking in response to the sudden activity having been motionless for so long. Her steps are unsteady, and the blanket slips from her shoulders as she takes the five or so paces to the front door.

An arctic blast chills her to the bone, but this is nothing compared to the shock she experiences at seeing who has called on her.

"Eric!"

Her countenance is one of surprise, his of horror, though he quickly disguises it behind a forced smile.

"I'm sorry for calling unannounced," he says, a little embarrassed by his own presumptuousness, "but I was on my way past and thought I'd check in, I hope you don't mind?"

Flakes of snow pepper his hair and clothes, and there is a weatherbeaten colour to his cheeks, a stark contrast to Ariel's pale skin, which immediately becomes a source of worry for him. Under one arm he supports a sack of coal, in the other sits a brown paper bag of groceries, and there is no question as to who the intended recipient is.

Ariel finds herself stunned for a moment by this unexpected encounter before, coming back to herself, she steps back and invites her friend in. She deeply wishes that she could offer more in the way of hospitality, but she cannot even welcome Eric into a warm home. Shame washes over her, though she knows that her friend does not and _will never_ judge her worth by her poverty.

Eric places the grocery bag on the countertop to his right as he enters, and Ariel shuts the door with a soft click behind him; he doesn't see how heavily she leans against the frame.

Considering his friendship with Ariel, the young upperclassmen has not spent a great deal of time here, and he takes in the room with a regretful expression. The hearth is empty, the floorboards uncovered and uneven, to his left is a well-used window seat and beyond that a less well used dining table, with two chairs that are never in use simultaneously. To the left of the hearth, near the bedroom door, is a sofa which collapsed the first time Warren sat upon its threadbare cushions, was pushed against the wall, and hasn't moved since. The wallpaper peels, the bare window shudders in the wind and lets in little light, and one corner of the ceiling is damp and black with mould.

At the risk of impertinence Eric has offered often to rectify these blemishes, and always Ariel insists that it is not so bad, that they get by well enough.

Placing the last of his bearings upon the floor beside him, Eric turns back to his friend, who stoops somewhat awkwardly for the blanket she had dropped.

"Let me get that." Eric retrieves it before Ariel has the chance to reply, and arranges it around her shoulders, which shake with the cold despite her obvious efforts of concealment.

"Shall I get a fire going?"

He waits this time for her nod of approval before beginning the task, and Ariel sinks back down onto the window seat, watching him work and wishing life was like this always.

Soon the coals glow red, and flames leap up the chimney breast.

Ariel stands with a uncertain movement, and Eric does likewise, turning to face her. There is a smudge of soot across his right cheek which he is evidently unaware of, and Ariel fails to mention it, though allows herself an inward smile at the sight.

She shuffles towards the promise of warmth and stumbles into Eric's arms, whose lightning fast reactions have carried him to her side in an instant. Feeling suddenly bashful, being only in her nightgown, Ariel lowers her eyes to avoid meeting his gaze.

He holds her arm now, tenderly, and leads her frail body towards the glow of the fire, before which she sits, her legs folding neatly beneath her.

Eric removes his coat and drapes that too over her shoulders, and lowers himself to the floor beside her. His blood boils at the state of affairs. Warren ought to be here attending her, making every effort to ensure her health and comfort, and he is nowhere to be seen. He suspects that her momentarily weakness is not unusual, and wishes for the millionth time that he had been less hesitant to admit his feelings towards her.

In the orange flare Ariel is radiant, the heat slowly breathing life into her once more, yet still there is a weariness to her features, a slouch to her frame, and Eric begins to perceive the toll that this pregnancy—this life—is taking on his beloved.

"How are you?" he asks softly, "are you well?"

Ariel nods, a slow and slight movement that appears to require a great deal of energy. "We're well enough" she replies. Her hand moves as she speaks and comes to rest upon her growing belly. She isn't certain as to whether Eric's enquiry extended further than herself, but knows that, if it hadn't, a similar one will have followed; thus, her answer saves him the trouble.

The squealing outside continues and a silence falls over the steadily warming apartment. Still the snow falls, the flakes lighter now, or perhaps it is merely existing snow being blown from the rooftops upon the sigh of the breeze, an illusion.

Eric, discontent with allowing Ariel to suffer whilst he has the power to do something about it unchallenged, spends the morning attending her. There are no extravagancies in his conduct, nothing than any gentleman oughtn't think to do for his lady; but Ariel is not _his_ lady, and the fact that he so willingly steps in to help despite their class difference offers a glimpse at just how much she means to him. He knows that he will receive nothing in return, nor does he expect as much, for to see his dearest friend comfortable is reward enough to a young man brought up by his guardians to make humble use of his assets. Idly he wonders whether his parents would have taught him otherwise.

A brunch of soup, tea and biscuits fills Ariel with unspeakable gratitude, and the pleasantness of her company pushes thoughts of her husband to one side—he cannot hurt her whilst Eric is here.

They converse with a cordiality and ease that has existed between them since childhood, despite the worries that now weigh heavily upon each. It baffles Ariel that the only change since this morning has been Warren for Eric; with the former the apartment takes on the feel and appearance of a prison cell, with the latter it is entirely pleasant, a home which she feels she can live in.

Alas, it cannot last. Every passing moment brings the threat of her husband's return closer, and if he were to find Eric here... Ariel shudders.

"You should go," she says apologetically, "before Warren comes back."

This, Eric knows, is not a outright dismissal, but he is well aware of Warren's dislike for him and does not wish to cause any sort of disruption. He wants more than anything to remain here by Ariel's side, to ensure that she is well looked after, but his own cowardice had made it an impossibility.

He nods his understanding and rises from the rough wood, before seeing to it that the fire will burn long after he is gone. When he turns around, Ariel is struggling to join him.

"Ariel you needn't get up!" he insists.

She speaks to him then without words, as she often does, and he steps forward and helps her to her feet. For a moment she merely stands still, finding her balance, grasping Eric's forearms, committing this moment to memory—it is one she will return to on another sleepless night. She uses this moment of closeness to brush the soot from his cheek with her thumb, and he smiles.

Presently she returns his coat—the blanket that she is left with sufficient now that the room is notably warmer—which he adorns in the five or so paces to the front door. Here Eric stops and turns to her, his eyes full of a longing which is mirrored in those of the woman before him.

"Is there anything else I can do?"

_Take_ _me_ _away_. "You've done more than enough Eric, thank you." She speaks with sincerity, her voice trembling.

Eric silently disagrees, he feels that he hasn't done nearly enough. With a slow, continuous movement, he takes her hand in his and raises it to his lips.

"My door's always open to you, Ariel," he says, lowering her hand without releasing it, "day or night, if ever you need anything."

She squeezes his hand, unconscious of that fact that she is doing so. She knows that he will help her unquestionably, that had she ever knocked at his door on her late night visits she would surely have gained admittance regardless of the hour; but what then? There was no way out of her current predicament, she was not alone in what she endured at the hands of her husband, indeed many women suffered similarly, and in terms of legality he was doing nothing wrong. What could Eric, or anybody else do but provide her these fleeting moments of security?

She thanks Eric again in acknowledgement of his offer.

The effort it takes to tear himself away is staggering, and the sense of loss Eric experiences when Ariel's hand finally slips from his own threatens to overwhelm him. When he opens the door he is reminded of the conditions in which Ariel was left by a man who doesn't deserve her—not that he claims to either, but certainly he would endeavour to treat her far better.

Ariel senses his grief and seeks to reassure him. "We'll be fine," she says, cradling her growing bump, "truly we will."

Silently praying that such will be the case, but remaining unconvinced, Eric bids her farewell, urging her to shut the door swiftly so as to keep out the chill. She does so and removes to the window, where she can watch his retreating form surrounded by the newfound warmth of her home.

The snow sits midway up Eric's calves, making for slow progress. When he reaches the bottom of the treacherous stairs he turns his collar up against the wind and digs his hands deep into his pockets. Many of the children, he observes, have disappeared into their homes, but those who remain skip alongside him with innocently hopeful faces. He deposits what little loose change he has into their upturned palms, and they scramble home with the precious gift clutched within their frozen fists, evidently used to being ignored in such a situation. At the end of the street Eric turns. The window of Ariel's apartment had misted over, but she has wiped away enough of the moisture that he is able to see her, perfectly framed as though captured in a painting. He waves, hesitates, and disappears around the corner.

Ariel is alone once more.

She knows that it will be serval hours before Warren returns, but she would much rather be safe than sorry, and her husband has made abundantly clear what would befall Eric should he ever find him here. Deep down, though she tries not to think of it, she knows that the mere possibility of Eric having been here will be enough to irritate Warren. She could put out the fire and throw away his gifts, pretend that they had been brought by someone else altogether, but the suspicion would still exist.

He would know. He always knew.

Ariel returns once again to sit before the dancing flames, determined not to let her fear overcome her, though she perceives now the inevitability of what awaits her. Her baby shifts almost imperceptibly, and whether this heightens her trepidation or quells it she cannot be certain, but it is a comfort to know that she is not alone, that so long as she can keep her baby safe, she will never be alone again.


End file.
